"Well, fellows, how do you like that old stone fire-box, anyhow?" Ham questioned. "I haven't heard a fellow say a word about it yet. That big black pot hanging on that crane makes me happy all over. Why, we have Robinson Crusoe and that last polar expedition beaten a city block. I never do see a pot hanging over the fire like that but I think of some of the delicious stews that Jim Parker made for us the Christmas vacation we spent with him out on his ranch in Middle Park. Snowbird stew good? O my! It has turkey beaten a thousand directions." "Snowbird stew?" questioned Chuck. "What in the world is it, Ham? Bacon creamed, or some such stuff?" "Bacon creamed, nothing," replied Ham disgustedly. "Snowbirds, just plain snowbirds. When I was out feeding the mules just now, I heard a whole flock of snowbirds fly down the canyon. That's what made me think of the stew, I suppose." "Well, if they're no bigger than the snowbirds I've seen," remarked one boy, "you'd have to have a bushel of them for a meal." "Do you mean those saucy little fellows with the white breasts that come with the first snows?" "Those are the fellows," replied Ham, "and of course you need a lot of them. But, then, they are so easy to catch if you just get into a flock of them." "How do you get them?" inquired Fat, who was always interested in anything new, so long as it had possibilities of something to eat in it. "Well, it's a good deal of hard work and some inconvenience until you get started. But, O my! the eats the next day! Little fat fellows all stewed down until they're tender." "Let's get a bunch," suggested Willis weakly, watching Ham for a cue. "There isn't a gun in the crowd," laughed one. "You could use clubs, couldn't you?" asked another.